


the flowers have fallen, so

by enmity



Category: Persona 2, Persona Series
Genre: F/M, this has no emotional payoff srry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 13:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enmity/pseuds/enmity
Summary: "Do you ever get tired of who you are?"





	the flowers have fallen, so

**Author's Note:**

> to who this is for you know who you are and i'm sorry bc this wasnt cute enough + writing this made me remember why i dont write this ship hfgfgfdg rofl
> 
> edit: this is NOT a hatefic

Katsuya senses his voice about to falter in the half-second before it happens. Maybe it’s from the cold air, or maybe from the abrupt way the question rolls out of his mouth, sounding sudden and frivolous and somehow so unlike anything he’d expect himself to say (a blatant self-serving lie, considering his splendidly awful track record of _staying calm_ within thirty centimeters of Amano’s presence), that for a brief, wild moment, he wonders whether jumping into the nearest manhole and staying there for the foreseeable future and all the consequences it entails would be worth the temporary escape from the _metaphorical_ hole he knows he’s just dug himself into.

As he always does in her company. Rinse and repeat. (He thinks there’s a roughly equal chance of Serizawa having caught on to the pattern as there is of her having rigged the straws to make sure he’s _not_ the guy who’s in danger of getting his jaw dislocated by her uppercut, which. He should probably thank Serizawa for later, all things considered. He really should.)

Anyway, the idea excises itself from his mind the next instant, which is just unfortunate, really, because that means he’s going to have to ride this out the normal way. Reasonably. Like an adult.

Because the thing is --

_Do you ever get tired of who you are?_

He asks her because he can already imagine what she’s going to say; _of course not, Katsuya! Why would I ever be?_ Her distracted smile, her thumb sliding across her earlobe, her eyes glimmering with honesty. He asks her because it’s never been a question for him. He might as well have asked her, _do you like yourself_? He can already hear her answer to that, too.

Because: of course. Of course he’s tired of himself. Of course he’d rather be someone else. But, watching Amano, the thoughtless way she crosses her arms in front of her and laughs at him for a reason he doesn’t completely grasp, the ease of which she catches him off-guard when she turns her face again, to look at him, really look at him, for what might be the first time (he hasn’t been holding his breath, hasn’t been counting every second of every half-moment between them drawn out too long; he hasn’t, that’s just pathetic) -- he wonders how rude it would be to avert his gaze right then and there, if only to hide the color of embarrassment no doubt rising to his face --

It’s just --

“Yes,” Amano says then, almost too quietly, contrary to all his expectations: “I guess. Sometimes I do.” Her gaze flickers over to the pavement, and he can’t see her face anymore from where he’s standing, though she’s right next to him.

“I … see,” he says, stilted. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to.”

It’s just that sometimes, when he looks at Amano, he can’t help but think that maybe the kind of person he wants to be is someone who she’ll look back twice at. Look at like there’s something in him worth seeing; worth remembering.

(It’s an odd thing to acknowledge. He doesn’t think he’s felt the right to want anything at all in a long time.)

But the next moment the graceful young woman’s reflection passes by the windowpane, her heels clicking onto the pavement, and Katsuya realizes that he hasn’t said the right thing to Amano, that this is yet another wasted opportunity to bridge the distance between them, as invisible as it is insurmountable. And as he walks with Amano, staring at their uneven stride across the concrete, the half-step she has ahead of him, a part of him wonders if he’ll ever become the kind of person brave enough to close that gap. To reach out between them to hold her hand in his.

He’s not going to hold his breath for that.

He lifts his gaze from the pavement instead, bringing them up to watch Amano’s back as she walks away. And then, he follows her. He always does.


End file.
